The Five Times Sherlock Got Revenge on John,
by novadiablo
Summary: and The One Time John Got Revenge on Sherlock. *sigh* Do I even need to go into this? Yes, there is Slash, because Slash is fun. ALSO CROSSDRESSING YAY.
1. Chapter 1

1.

**A/N: I SHOULD NOT be doing this. I've got schoolwork galore, three other stories I haven't finished and a social life to fit in there somewhere. But screw it. Also, have another one planned about holidays, comments are love.**

**Also also, Sherlock cross-dresses in the next chapter, so stay tuned.**

**ND**

Mycroft had physically forced them onto the plane, and Sherlock was in the process of booking them a ticket back under a false name using Mrs Hudson's credit card details. John sat back in his seat, furious that he was missing at day at work; he could really use that money. They were in first class (surprise, surprise) and pretty girls in tight skirts kept catching his attention.

Sherlock could of course see this and with every glance John made he frowned a bit more.

"Stop it, John." He said suddenly, as they were taking off. John had just accepted an alcoholic beverage from a woman whose breasts were tumbling out of her top.

"Stop what?" John stuttered, guilty.

"Stop looking at the women when I'm _right next to you_!" he whispered.

"Jealous?" grinned John. Oh, Sherlock would make him pay.

"No, I've just got something better for you to look at." And with that he unzipped his pants and did something that is 'frowned upon' on aeroplanes.

"Sherlock!" John hissed. "Sherlock, stop masturbating in public."

"Why?" asked Sherlock, scrunching up his face.

"People don't want to see you masturbating!"

Sherlock assumed a hurt expression and covered himself with the blanket.

"If you didn't want to see me masturbate you could have just said so."

John sighed, leaning forward and putting his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

"I do want to see you masturbate, Sherlock, just not now. Masturbating is a private thing."

Sherlock of course, knew that.

"Okay!" he said brightly, "I'll go to the bathroom! Want to come and watch?"

John was pretty sure the people behind them had heard the whole conversation. He shook his head silently. Sherlock pulled his jumper over his erection and waddled to the toilet. When he got there, he leaned against the bench and waited. The toilet was tiny. Both of them would only just fit. Sherlock licked his lip in anticipation.

It was ten minutes before the hard rapping of John's fist signalled his resolve had dissolved.

"Occupied." Sherlock called, and John rapped again.

"Oh, John, is that you?" Sherlock feigned surprise. "Do you want to come in?"

"Yes." John said quietly. Sherlock unlocked the door and John stumbled in as quickly as he could.

He sat down on the toilet seat nervously.

"Hurry up."

Sherlock, tired of his game, smirked and began to run his fingers down his cock, watching John's face.

"Take of your shirt, John." He said in a low voice. John pulled the polo over his head. Sherlock pumped faster.

"Suck on your fingers and run them down my chest." Sherlock said in a very, very, very low voice. He was losing control now, but it didn't matter because John was here. He could afford to lose control.

John did as he was told, and they were very close now. Sherlock watched John carefully, his breaths coming as little puffs. He leaned into John's neck, wheezing, as John took and arched as he finally reached release.

As soon as he was coherent again, Sherlock let out a deep, sneering laughing. John sighed.

"I walked straight into your little trap, didn't I?"

"Yes." Sherlock said in a slow, deliberate and mocking voice.

"And you knew I would."

"Yes." That same voice.

"And you've been planning this since I asked if you were jealous."

"Yes. Well done John, three out of three!" Sarcasm.

"Doesn't matter though, Sherlock."

"I know it doesn't."

"Because I'm not the one covered in my own semen."

Sherlock hadn't thought of that. John could tell by the lack of immediate reply.

"I didn't have to lure my boyfriend into an aeroplane toilet; I didn't have to beg him to rub his saliva on me."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Doesn't matter though, John. The point of this little escapade was to remind you that your boyfriend is better than any of the girls out there. And more daring, if my deductions are correct – and they are. Also, you didn't seem to mind, judging by the state of your pants."

There was a spreading wet patch at the front of John's jeans, which occupied them for the rest of the plane ride. And then they didn't again on the way home.


	2. Chapter 2

2.

John was at it again. This time they were out to lunch, Sherlock was munching on honey chicken and John was drooling over asses. Sherlock was getting a little tired of this perving, but revenge would have to wait. John had met a nice French couple who knew just too little English that they might like Sherlock. They were going to meet them for dinner later. Sherlock stood up.

"Where are you going?" John asked, worried and guilty.

"Oh, just to do a little shopping, I'll see you at the restaurant later." Sherlock waved a hand airily and put a fiver on the table. John knew something was up then.

"Hello, John," was the high, feminine voice that called out to him. He looked up and immediately wished he could sink through solid floor into the core of the earth where it was hotter than his flushed face.

Because in front of him, was Shirley, Sherlock's female alter-ego. The one they kept to the bedroom.

He – she – strutted up to John, Basille and Aveline with a sweet pink smile on his face. His hair was straightened into a sweet little bob; he wore a tight long-sleeved, sequined top stuffed with enough fake boob to make any (straight) man jealous of John and a short skirt. He'd shaved his legs and donned some flat strappy shoes (because if he was any taller, he would lose his prettiness). He wore subtle fake lashes and blush that rounded his cheekbones.

He looked like a woman.

The French couple looked confused for a moment, however they must have come to the conclusion they misheard John when he'd said 'boyfriend' as they made their introductions to Shirley kindly.  
As they sat down, John hissed in Sherlock's ear.

"What the hell do you think you're playing at?" to which Sherlock replied, "I'm wearing a g-string."

They ate happily enough, Basille and Aveline having 'bangers and mash' and John and 'Shirley' sharing spare ribs. However, spare ribs are quite messy, so Sherlock excused himself to go to the bathroom.

And when he returned, lo and behold, John found himself holding a black g-string.

"Now I'm not wearing anything."

This was getting ridiculous. John had been attempting to discourage his erection the whole dinner, but when Sherlock wrapped an arm around him and snuggled him tight, he lost the battle. Big time.

John tried to excuse them and say goodnight to the French couple, but Sherlock held him down, stroking his leg. Higher, and higher, and higher, and higher, and hi- that knuckle just grazed his cock. That was it. John stood slowly, bidding farewell to Basille and Aveline, and Sherlock followed, smiling politely and earning a kiss on the hand from Basille.

They caught a cab, so John couldn't really yell at Sherlock for cross dressing and causing him to be uncomfortable throughout the whole of dinner. Sherlock went first up the stairs and John caught himself stopped on the second one, staring upwards. When he clumped up the stairs, Sherlock was already in his room.

"Sherlock!" He called angrily.

"Go wait on the lounge, John, I'll be out in a moment."

And he was out in a moment.

Wearing heels, no shirt and a skirt.

John was over and out. Sherlock straddled him, trailing bright red kisses down his neck. John snaked a hand up Sherlock's smooth legs and fiddled with his sac as Sherlock thrusted into air, lipstick and mascara smudged and mouth open wantonly.

John leaped up at this point, pulled off his pants and bent Sherlock over the table, heeled feet spread, skirt still on.

John ran his hands down Sherlock sides and found a prepared entrance awaiting his sex. Just the thought of Sherlock preparing himself for this twisted his gut delightfully. They were both already close, Sherlock thrusting into the table as he waited. John pushed himself in and pulled back Sherlock's head by his straightened hair.

"I'm going to fuck you _so_ hard," John insisted, and lived up to his promise.

Later, lying on the couch, Sherlock insisted that John had deserved it. John mentioned that he'd have to make Sherlock jealous more often, but the look on Sherlock's face made him rethink it. Next time, the revenge might be horse's head in his bed…


End file.
